


Perfect Strangers

by shewearsglasses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartender Dean, Bartenders, Bisexual Dean, Bisexuality, Drinking to Cope, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Flirting, Fluff, Human Castiel, LGBTQ Themes, Late Night Conversations, Late at Night, Light Angst, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Professor Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Religion, Religious Discussion, Rewrite, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Upset Castiel, implied future relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1913976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewearsglasses/pseuds/shewearsglasses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mother always said never talk to strangers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is an older story I had on FanFiction that I found and edited to put up here. I actually really ended up liking the way it came out. I added over 1,000 words, and made it Dean POV instead of omniscient. I hope YOU like it as well!

Mother always said never talk to strangers.

Dean never really listened when she talked though, and as much as he regretted that, he couldn't dwell on it now. So, he leaned closer to the bar, sweeping across the surface with his rags, and he started a conversation. "Hey, man. What's up?"

The man was soft-looking, like he'd just barely survived a horrible break-up. He had calming blue eyes that made ya wanna sing, and smooth lips that looked as soft as they probably felt. "Hm?"

Dean grinned—all teeth—and he flicked the rag over his shoulder, "What's up?"

The man looked behind him slowly, and then pointed one finger at himself, to which Dean offered a roll of his eyes. "Not much... I guess."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"About what?"

Dean rolled his eyes again, having a habit of making things dramatic. "I dunno... maybe why you're you here? Drinking away your sorrows like a loser at 4pm?"

"Would you like me to leave, then?"

"What? No!"

"Then why are you harassing me?"

Dean pushed off the bar, holding his hands up in a cool-down gesture. "Easy, buddy. I was just tryin' ta' make conversation."

"Thank you."

The man laid his head back against the cool surface of the bar, effectively ignoring Dean's confused scowl. Dean noticed that the whiskey the guy was nursing was nearing empty. He grabbed a handle and refilled it. The guy raised an eyebrow, about to open his mouth—and probably deny the gesture, but Dean held his hands up again, “On the house, man.”

“Thank you,” the man said again. He put his forehead to the bar, and Dean tried not to take the moment as his opportunity to check him out further.

"You sure you're okay?"

The man looked up sharply, focusing his glare on Dean's uneasy expression. "I am fine," he gritted out from between clenched teeth.

"Fine, man. Whatever you say," Dean rolled his eyes one final time, disappearing from the man's line of view as he moved to grab the vodka. He grabbed two shot glasses from behind the bar. “Shots?”

"Yes, Dean. Whatever I say. Just because you hold the drinks does not mean you also know how to talk to me!" The man hissed, voice low from a combination of anger and alcohol. The man paused as if just remembering there’d been a question tagged onto the end. “Shots?”

A sloppy grin manifested itself on Dean's tight lips. "Yeah?"

"Yes!" The man shouted back. He seemed angry at just about everything. He was probably one of those patrons who would get drunk and complain about the broken Open sign and the mismatched bar stools.

Dean raised the vodka higher into the air, and poured it into the two shot glasses, "I don't think so, man. Now, let's get you good and drunk!" He grinned and slid one shot to the mysterious man. “What’re we drinking to?”

"I don't need your help," he said. But he accepted the shot anyway, and raised it to his lips. Dean held out a hand to stop him.

"It would appear not," Dean laughed. “Alright, let’s drink to new friendships. That too cheesy?”

The man nodded, and a small smile flickered to life on his lips. Dean was really starting to enjoy those lips. They were so pink and beautiful. He imagined they’d feel good wrapped around his—the man cleared his throat as if sensing Dean’s thoughts, “Much too cheesy.” He tipped his head back and downed the shot, slamming the empty glass on the table and grunting. Dean could do nothing but watch, enjoying the way the man’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the vodka.

Dean followed suit, downing the shot and refilling both of their glasses. “My ma’ said never to mix alcohol’s but if you’re gonna get drunk, you’re gonna need shots, and I don’t know about you, but whiskey doesn’t really do it for me.” He grinned wide, feeling a spike of confidence when the man returned his smile. “So, what's yer name?"

The man eyed him, and Dean tried not to feel uncomfortable at the way his eyes roamed his figure. He put up big game, but when it all came down to it, he was a bit insecure. Finally, he said, "Castiel."

Dean whistled long and low, “That's an odd name, ya got there, Cas. What's it mean?"

"I'm named for an angel of the Lord,” Castiel said. Dean appreciated the fact that he now knew what to call out when he came into his hand later that night. What a name. “Isn’t it a little soon for nicknames?”

“Nah,” Dean said. He was nodding along to the music. Now that Cas was opening up more, he felt comfortable enough to lean forward against the bar. "And that’s pretty cool. My parents were pretty religious too.” He raised the shot in his hand again, “To religious upbringings and strict parents.”

Castiel copied him, and this time they downed the shots simultaneously, “Are you supposed to be drinking on the job?”

Dean laughed. “I can do what I want, I own this bar. Ya know," Dean said. He leaned further forward and set his shot glass aside. Castiel’s blue eyes were hypnotizing—they reminded him of the ocean on a clear day. "You speak awfully formal for such a down-and-out guy. What d'you do?"

Castiel surprised Dean by smiling—the left side of his mouth curved up just enough that Dean could even see his sharp row of teeth. He said, "I am a Professor."

"You teach?" Dean wanted to lean even closer, but the bar was blocking him. He looked around, it was empty enough that he could probably get away with circling around to sit next to Cas—but he didn’t want to scare the guy off. He’d only just warmed up to him.

"Yes, that is the definition of Professor."

Dean scowled, but the earlier smile still brightened his eyes. "You know what I meant. What classes ya teach?"

"Psychology and religion," Castiel said, twisting his empty shot glass between his hands. Dean reached behind the bar and grabbed the whiskey, filling the other glass beside him.

"Oh, so you're a big religious guy, are ya?" After putting back the handle, Dean grabbed his rag and began wiping at the bar again, ears still attentively tuned onto Cas’ every word, “Makes sense with the name and all.”

"It would appear so," Castiel said, and Dean felt his eyes following his every move. He tried not to stiffen uncomfortably. He relaxed his eyes, and raised his eyes to meet Castiel’s. After a few seconds too long, Dean cleared his throat and collected their empty shot glasses and began cleaning them out.

"Not much of a fan, myself. I kinda dropped it somewhere along the way; my parents weren’t exactly ‘proud’ of the decision but, whatever. I don't really like the way they treat my kind," he said, looking away from Castiel's burning gaze.

"Your kind?"

Dean sighed, he should have known this would come up sooner or later. It was his fault, really—for letting it slip out at all. But then again, Castiel had to know he was coming onto him. "I'm bisexual," then, when Castiel didn't move, "Don't worry. I won't be offended if you run off; most folks do."

"You're not diseased," Castiel stated as if it were any other fact. He tilted his head.

Dean raised his eyes to meet the blue pair that had yet to look away, "Ya think?" He almost laughed—and usually people were so biased when they found out. Being gay was one thing, at least then, he had a straight identity—well not _straight_ per say—but with ‘bisexuality’ came confusion and raised eyebrows and those eye-rolls that he knew to mean ‘oh, he’s just confused. Let the phase pass.’

Castiel smiled slowly, "I'm actually gay."

"Ya don't say?" Dean grinned all big and proud. Well at least now they were mostly on the same page. He swallowed and set the rag aside to lean in again, "So, Cas. What's up? Why so blue?"

Castiel's lips lifted into a snarl, "I thought we weren't discussing this subject."

"Come on! I didn't figure you for stupid, Cas! You knew I wasn't gonna drop it, didn't ya?" Dean laughed; he crossed his arms and leaned further into the bar to give the man his full attention. "Get on with it, then!"

Castiel's lips curled into a sneer, his hands disappearing into his pocket. He stiffened just slightly and Dean had to wonder if there was something in there. When he spoke, he nearly growled out his words, "My... ex-boyfriend. He—” Castiel swallowed and then took a breath in and out, “just got engaged to a new man. And... I'm feeling a bit _blue_  about it. I figured that I'd have the whole package by now, ya know? Husband, adoptive children," he forced out a laugh. "The whole nine-yards!"

"Don't I know it," Dean echoed, whistling low. Dean tried not to let any pity shine through his eyes, if anything he pushed through all the sympathy in his heart. He’d hit similarly bad breaking points along the way—when Cassie got married, when Lisa had Ben with some other tool, when all the men in his life left him for something more ‘stable.’ "I feel ya. I want the package too; guess it just hits some of us later than others."

Castiel smiled wider than ever—all teeth and pearly whites. Dean felt a twinge of jealousy spark within him, and he flicked his tongue across his own teeth, suddenly hating how pale and yellow they seemed. "Yeah," Castiel said.

"So, when's this ex-boyfriend of yours getting hitched?"

"Two months."

"Two months?" Dean’s eyes widened, and he stepped back. "Isn't that a little... I dunno.. Soon?"

"They've been together for 3 years."

Dean closed his mouth sharply, unconsciously biting his lip for gaping so obnoxiously in the first place. He'd assumed the wound was fresh if Cas was so upset about it; he'd stupidly thought Cas was  _newly_  single, "Was he your last?"

There was a moment of silence where Dean wasn’t sure Cas would even answer. "Yes," he whispered quietly. Dean nodded—the mood souring with their conversation.

He coughed into his hand, and grabbed out two new shot glasses. "Yeah? That's quite a time! Aren't ya bored of the single life?" He poured some more vodka in the glasses and slid one to Cas.

Castiel's smile deepened still and he reached a hand out to accept the shot. "I've been bored since the second  _day_."

Dean tried not to gaze at Castiel’s smile for too long. It was so bright and beautiful and it felt so private after peeling him open over a long period of time. It felt like they knew each other in such a way that they always had. And maybe Cas was even flirting back.

The door clanged shut, and Dean’s head snapped up, eyes circling the bar: empty. He turned around to find the clock above the wall. He clicked his tongue, and put the vodka back behind the bar. He cursed under his breath, “It's past five! Time flies, I guess."

Castiel grimaced—then his lips twisted into an awkward half-smile-half-frown—possibly in an effort not to all out pout. Dean would’ve loved to see that. Maybe later. He said, "I guess so."

Dean raised the final shot and Cas followed suit, “To time,” Castiel said before Dean could raise a toast. Dean grinned back at him, and they downed the shots. Dean collected their glasses and cleaned them, turning his back to put them away. He glanced at Cas when he heard his stool shift. There were several crumpled-up bills on the counter—more than enough to cover the whiskey and all their shots.

He pouted for a second, and called out, "Hey! Wait up, Cas!"

Castiel paused, hand on the door. Dean finished what he was cleaning, and grabbed his wallet and keys from behind the cash register. He pulled his coat from the front hook and smirked at the fact that Cas still waited patiently at the door. Maybe there was hope yet. “Wanna get breakfast?"

Castiel stared at him for a second in silence, but just as the insecurity was setting back in, he laughed. It was the most beautiful sound Dean had ever heard—all husky and low and Dean wanted to hear that same sound as his mouth was—Castiel spoke, "Breakfast?" He said incredulously, dry sarcasm crept into his tone.

Dean felt the grin return to his lips, and he licked them to keep them dry. The smirk grew when he noticed how Castiel’s eyes darkened as he followed the movement. There was _definitely_ still hope. "I'm tryin' ta' ask you out, Cas! Would you just let me?" Castiel smiled and nodded, and he continued, "Whatever, ass. Anyway, let's get breakfast. It’s late enough, or well, early. And ya never know, the whole package could be just around the corner!"

Dean felt a blush creeping up his neck and onto his face, and he clenched his fists to keep them from covering his face self-consciously. "Stop looking at me like that, would ya? Is it a yes or no?" He reigned himself in, waiting for the answer that could very well change his life.

Castiel stopped smiling, and it hit Dean like a bucket of ice water that he was gonna turn him down. He opened his mouth to take it all back, but then Castiel’s eyes softened, and the straight-line of his lips was replaced by the most brilliant grin Dean had ever seen. He turned to face Dean fully, and said, "It's a yes."

Dean swore he'd never smiled so big.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I'm sort of on the fence with Destiel. I used to be a heavy-shipper but I've had a falling out with Supernatural over the past year. I still haven't even caught up with Season 9. It was just such bad writing, and Destiel is so horrible cause the writers play with it so obviously. They tease it for the sake of the fans, then they get uncomfortable by how gay they accidentally made the show/episode and pull back. I have character development whiplash. I'm gonna keep watching, but it's just painful to do so.
> 
> I need to get back into my Destiel groove.


End file.
